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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184540">back to december</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth'>VerdantMoth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>december [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Its somewhere between first avenger and winter soldier movies?, Like, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Uhm, idk how to tag this, look - Freeform, loosely, sort of canon compliant, tbh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:27:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s always hated spring the most, even more than winter with its harsh colds and bitter flues.</p><p>“I need to go back.” He keeps telling them. </p><p>And it’s a stranger with an almost familiar face who gets it; brown eyes warm instead of cold, sharp grin teasing instead of taunting. </p><p>Better hair too. </p><p>“When, Steve?” Tony Stark asks. “When do you need to go back to?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>december [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>back to december</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Summer</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The air is tacky, a wet heat that seeps into the lungs of even the healthiest soldier. And Steve would know, being the healthiest soldier. </p><p>Still. </p><p>Steve watches Bucky, like he did before. </p><p>In some ways, nothing has changed. The air is choking him, drowning him. Seeping into his skin, soaking and saturating. </p><p>In other ways? Everything has changed. </p><p>Bucky moves differently. On his own, he’s more… he isn’t skittish. But cautious. He moves like an animal, a feline, who's been struck before. </p><p>With Steve he is, not uncertain, not exactly. Actually, he’s almost more certain. Crowding into Steve’s space, always to his left. Always breathing in Steve’s air, returning it hot and muggy against his neck. </p><p>It isn’t that they’ve never…</p><p>They used to share a damn cot in the apartment. But Bucky was always so careful, so gentle.</p><p>Now he drapes himself across Steve’s shoulders and punches him good in the pecs. </p><p>Steve doesn’t miss the gentle. Doesn’t miss being cradled like fragile china. </p><p>He misses the intimacy. Misses Bucky’s hands soft on his cheeks. Bucky’s ear against his chest. </p><p>He misses being wrapped in solid arms and held like the world might end if they separated. </p><p>Sex is good though. Steve <em> likes </em>getting fuck and fucking. So he stays quiet, let’s Bucky work through whatever shit  is in his head. </p><p>He’d probably be a bit messed up too, if Bucky came back with a whole fucking new body. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Fall</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The missions are fruitless at best. Pointless wastes of energy turning up nothing but abandoned postskojj and burned research. </p><p>Bucky has settled though, which makes all of the tromping through mud and shit and forest worth it in Steve’s opinion. </p><p>Steve has <em> also </em> kind of enjoyed sketching the autumn season in this part of the world. </p><p>The guys found him a broken set of pastels and some cheap colored pencils. So he does his best to capture the pale orange sunrises and the golden leaves and the gemstone sunsets. </p><p>He draws Bucky too, red lipped, soaking in murky water.</p><p>Tries to press the last warmth of the season into the pages, like he’s not glad the nights are getting colder. </p><p>Colder nights mean Bucky pressed against him, skin on skin under a shitty blanket. </p><p>He feels… </p><p>He feels like he always has, about Bucky. Like when Bucky isn’t there, the world is a little greyer, a little more distant. </p><p>Like his heart can’t work, when Bucky’s hurt. </p><p>Like...</p><p>Like his Ma felt about his Pa</p><p>“Holy shit,” he tells Bucky while they bathe. “Holy shit, I love you.”</p><p>Bucky side eyes him, tiny, feline smirk on red lips going purple. “Yeah, is that what this feeling is?”</p><p>Steve nods like the dumbshit he feels he is. </p><p>Bucky goes all soft in the eyes and swims towards him, kisses him like the others are not <em> just around the bend</em>, and says, “Well damn, Steve. Must love you too.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Winter </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Steve can’t <em> see </em> him. He can’t see Bucky and his heart is <em> thu-dunking </em> in his throat and he’s going to vomit and he can’t find Bucky. </p><p>The guys, they’re yanking him back, screaming to be heard over the howling wind. </p><p>All he can hear is Bucky’s cry as he dropped. All he can <em> think </em> is how he should’ve <em> listened</em>.</p><p>He could’ve waited five minutes. Five hours. Fuck he could’ve waited five more months. </p><p>But Bucky is lost and the snow is blinding and Steve feels closer to death than he ever did, feverish and trapped in bed.</p><p>He dives into the ice, and he’s chasing sketches of Bucky’s eyes, hearing the fucking screams ringing in his ears and all he can think about is that lazy September night; air cooling off and cicadas singing lullabies. Bucky, sobbing into his chest, wordlessly, and the gentle cuddling after. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Steve says to the growing ice, “Holy shit, Bucky. I’ve always loved you.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Spring</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Steve wakes, sneezes almost immediately. </p><p>The sun is a pale glow on a soft blue backdrop. Birds scream cheerily, pale pink and white flowers occasionally drift on the wind. </p><p>He’s always hated spring the most, even more than winter with its harsh colds and bitter flues. </p><p>Spring is hay fever and hives. Pollen everywhere and perky assholes with their “spring cleaning” bullshit.</p><p>“I have to go back,” he keeps telling everyone in this strange, new time. </p><p>“Where, Steve? Where you going?”</p><p>Steve shoves and snarls and he bites at them. Kicks and punches. But they’re <em> keeping him here</em>.</p><p>Test and theories and meaningless bullshit. “I need to go <em> back</em>.” He keeps telling them. </p><p>And it’s a stranger with an almost familiar face who gets it; brown eyes warm instead of cold, sharp grin teasing instead of taunting. </p><p>Better hair too. </p><p>“When, Steve?” Tony Stark asks. “When do you need to go back to?”</p><p>Steve can’t remember. He knows it was cold, and it was a while ago. He knows there was a train, and a war. </p><p>Were they winning? Who fucking cares. </p><p>“I loved him,” Steve gasps out. And maybe it’s dangerous. Maybe it’s the most dangerous decision he’s ever made. </p><p>For himself. </p><p>They’ll kill him, for sins and crimes of love. </p><p>Who fucking <em> cares</em>. </p><p>“I only just sorted it out. I loved him. I love him. An always thing and I only just got it and he needs to know. He’s gotta know. I love him and it was, is, and always thing.”</p><p>“Alright,” Tony says. It’s not exactly gentle, but his hands are as he brushes at Steve’s hair. “Alright, so we find him.”</p><p>Steve shakes his head. He remembers a train, and blinding snow, and a screaming cry that haunted his dreams for…</p><p>“December,” Steve settles on. “I gotta go back to December. Change my mind. Change the plan. Change everything.”</p><p>He knows even before Tony’s eyes go pity hard and his hands drift towards the I.V. filled with sleep. </p><p>“I don’t think that’s gonna work, Steve. You were out a pretty long time,” Tony tells him. </p><p>“I gotta try,” Steve argues. “I gotta go back to December and save Bucky.”</p><p>He has to tell him he loves him, tell him properly. Tell him like he <em> means </em> it. Like it’s the first and the last and the only thing he’ll ever say that even matters. </p><p>Sleep is coming, dark and heavy and haunted, and Steve tries to fight it. Tries to find his way back to snow and fear and pride. </p><p>“Okay,” Tony is lying in his ear. “Okay, we will find a way to get you back.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbles. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you out that night. Shit, Bucky. I loved you so goddamn fucking much.”</p><p> </p>
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